


The Game Changer: Le Gift

by bustedflipflop, jeangrey, Jehilew, Ludi_Ling, narwhallove



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Smut, idiots realizing they're falling in love, power control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-09 22:24:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20517404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bustedflipflop/pseuds/bustedflipflop, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeangrey/pseuds/jeangrey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jehilew/pseuds/Jehilew, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludi_Ling/pseuds/Ludi_Ling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/narwhallove/pseuds/narwhallove
Summary: In which a brand new Romy figure out their endgame, thanks to a certain Cajun’s gift, and a certain Mississippi Marauder’s brass. VERY SMUTTY. Do not ignore the rating!





	The Game Changer: Le Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xevg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xevg/gifts).

> This is a fic for the lovely Xevg! It's a round robin effort, with several of us Romy lovers contributing. The names of who wrote what what will be in parentheses at the beginning their parts. Many thanks to Ludi_Ling, Bustedflipflop, Narwhallove, Jeangrey, Lifeseverchanging, CajunCajole, and Amberlady42 for working so beautifully to pull together such an epic fic, y'all are awesome (even if ao3 won't acknowledge you last three just because you don't have an account here!!):)
> 
> Anyway, happiest of birthdays to you, my dear Xevg, with all the love from a group of folks who love you dearly, I do so hope you enjoy this! And for the rest of y'all reading it, I hope y'all love reading it as much as we've love writing it!

(**Narwhallove**) Today is not going Rogue’s way.

Not that it’s special day—not Christmas, not her birthday, not even another X-man’s birthday. But she’d woken to a radiant pink morning, warblers singing under her window, and a sense of gladness came over her, the sort she used to feel when summer vacation began.

The day would soon be warm, “too muggy” for a Californian like Jubilee, and the two women would fall into their favorite argument about one person being too fragile for “real weather,” and the other being too provincial to know what “awesome weather” was.

Maybe Remy would be home. Maybe he’ll fry pancakes.

Then a call from Scott comes, and Rogue finds herself fist-fighting Nimrod in Central Park.

“Why do I always have to be bait—” She won’t ever say aloud. She knows the team counts on her invulnerability. Still, it isn’t fun to be catapulted into an oak tree, or directly into the ground. At one moment, deep in the earth, she can hear Scott yelling, Hank chuckling to himself. No Remy.

Betsy rouses her, and grudgingly, she rejoins the battle, per Scott’s precisely engineered plan. They win—sending Nimrod off to some other dimension—and battered and sore, Rogue spends an hour in the infirmary with Hank.

Still, no Remy.

Scott pretends he doesn’t hear her question, and she doesn’t dare ask again, so after Hank let’s her go, she decides she’ll (**Jehilew**) try calling the missing Cajun.

She pulls out her phone, and stares at it, chewing her lip in uncertainty. _Should she call, or leave him be_?

She shrugs and pulls up his number, then halts again. They’ve only recently become a ‘thing’, and she doesn’t know the rules. Hell, she isn’t quite sure what ‘thing’ they are—they’re new enough to make her wonder sometimes what to call him, her boyfriend? A guy she’s seeing? A lover?

She smiles and flushes at that thought. Because _she_ has a man she might could call her _lover_? And it’s _him_?

Lover or no, they definitely do _things_, and those things feel amazing. And she knows she gives as good as she gets, if his reactions are anything to go on.

“Whoah, gal,” she giggles to herself, “best calm down there. ‘Sides, that still doesn’t answer the question of whether or not I should call ‘im.”

Because the last thing she wants is to overstep. To do too much. To _be_ too much, because she’s hyper-aware of the fact that she’s a _lot_. And he’s a restless sort, she doesn’t even know if he’s seeing anyone else.

Or _sleeping_ with anyone else, would be more accurate.

They’re _that_ new.

“Nah,” she thinks, shoving her phone back in her purse, “I don’t wanna nag. Or smother him. He’s probably busy, he’s been gone all day. And if he’s gone all day, he’ll come home tired,” she reasons with herself, all too happy to not call and potentially make an ass of herself.

“I’ll just go shower and turn it in,” she decides with finality.

(**Jeangrey**) Leaving a trail of uniform pieces and underwear behind her, she jumps into the ensuite bathroom for a much needed shower. One of the perks of her powerset is that she gets to do many things in private for _safety_ _reasons_. Thus, Xavier has modified her room into a mini flat, where she can do many daily tasks on her own and avoid possible skin to skin contact with other people.

And Rogue has fully taken advantage of these facilities. She has all the time in the world to clean up so she just lets water fall on her body and relax, as the last residues of the fight with Nimrod leave her skin.

She calls to her mobile to start a playlist.

“Note to self: bake a pie for Forge, for his divine gift of built-in shower speakers. Ok, time to shave those legs. Oh, I love this song! Volume up, please!”.

And she misses the knocking on her door. Twice.

Remy waits outside her door, pondering whether to knock for the third time or break into her place.

It’s not like she has to keep him updated on her day to day things. Yet she missed dinner, his message 10 minutes ago and he wants to check up on her after Hank told him she spent one hour in the infirmary.

“Smooth Remy, real smooth, de girl is tough as concrete yet you worry she might have a scratch.”

Still, he really wants to see her.

A mischievous thought pops up in his head and if not him, who will take a gamble with Rogue? He presses his ear to the door and takes out the lockpicks from his pocket.

“No shower running. Alright Roguey, lets see if you are singing along to Bon Jovi with one of your teddy bears in your arms. Cause that won’t hurt if it lands on my head for sneaking in.”

The door opens and Gambit finds himself staring at (Jehilew) a path of sweaty, tattered uniform pieces and less-than-delicate unmentionables leading him toward the open bathroom. He can clearly hear running water now, having missed it entirely for the music blaring and her belting out the lyrics of ‘Shot Through The Heart’ like she’d written the damn song from the depths of her soul.

“Ah, so you _are_ in the shower, eh, chere? Well now, there’s a good time we ain’t had yet.” He grins, vision flashing red in excitement, and decides to roll with the opportunity showing itself.

It might get his ass knocked out via absorption (not at all a pleasant thought, her learning all his secrets), or possibly tossed out her window (if she ever does make good on that threat, which he knows she won’t), but nothing ventured, nothing gained. It’s worth the risk.

_She’s_ worth the risk.

Not that it’s all _that_ much of a risk of health or wrath, not really. They’ve been fooling around for a little while now, started sleeping over in each other’s rooms, too, and they’ve been slow and careful. No actual sex, not yet, she’s too skittish for that, too scared of zapping him, and just in general not ready (she might not ever be, and he might be okay with that, which is just—). But they’ve experimented, found ways to make out, and other ways to fuck around, and she’s getting more and more comfortable and confident with intimacy.

_Intimacy_. He doesn’t really know what to do with that aspect of their relationship, considering the baggage rounding down his shoulders. But because of the very nature of their dynamic and circumstances, they are intimate, whether he wants it or not, ninety-nine percent of which is entirely done without any touch at all.

Wanted or not, here he is, and he certainly isn’t fucking and walking.

Hell, he’s not even dry-humping and heavy petting like a horny little fifteen year old and walking.

“‘Ello, Roguey-chere,” he calls out, lightly knocking knuckles on her bathroom door as he pauses in the threshold.

The velvety singing coming from the shower tears off in a graceless screech, and the curtain rips open just enough to allow her drenched head to pop out at him. “What the ever-lovin’ hell, Remy,” she squawks out, glass-green eyes blazing indignantly at him, “you scared the shit outta me. And what’re you even doin’ in here right now, can’t you see I’m takin’ a shower? I-I mean, I’m _naked_, you can’t be here!”

He knows her last comment has nothing to do with rejection and everything to do with fear of her power, this is nothing new.

It still stings like rejection, though, which is another thing he won’t analyze just yet, that it _stings_. Because it shouldn’t. He’s not unused to it, and it never bothers him out of other women, so why does it coming from her?

He grins all flirty at her, chuckling low and soft. “That right, beb? You sure was singin’ a different tune last night, you decide to kick this old boy to the trash already?”

She flushes prettily and clutches the shower curtain a bit tighter to her. “N-no, that ain’t it at all, Cajun. I just… I just wasn’t expectin’ you in—“ she pauses, eyes darting around the bathroom, “in _here_.”

He gets her. It’s one thing to let him climb into her bed, dressed so she doesn’t have to be, the room dim with low, sexy lighting, and she’s _expecting_ things. It’s another to be startled in a more vulnerable, starkly different situation.

She’s definitely not ready for anything sexy in the shower, he realizes. She’s too exposed, too off-guard, and there was no lead-up. He’d misstepped; this level of spontaneity with her might come later, but it’s definitely not a thing yet.

“Well, in that case, how about you jus’ carry on wit’ your shower, and I’ll go chill in your room til you done, eh?” He offers with a shrug, perfectly willing to give ground now to gain more later.

She feels her nerves softening with relief, and she offers him a shy smile. “Yeah, I’d like that, shug.”

(**Ludi_Ling**) She retreats back behind the shower curtain, heart racing. She hears the sound of the door clicking shut, and it still won’t stop racing. She’s not in the mood for carefree singing anymore; the music fades into the background. The only thing she’s aware of is the screaming tumult of her thoughts as she scrubs vigorously at herself with a heady sense of embarrassment and exhilaration. She’d been wondering where he was _all day_, and _trust him_ to show up in the most uncomfortable way possible…!

She’s kind of angry at herself, truth be told. Angry at feeling so embarrassed, at being so caught off guard, at not really knowing what to do.

For a second - a short split second - the idea had flashed in her head of actually inviting him in with her, but gawd, think of how awkward the logistics of that would’ve been! No - she would’ve ended up zapping him for sure. And him, under the water, in all his clothes - totally unsexy! Nope! She’d made the right decision there. Totally!

She dunks her head under the water, still feeling flustered, ashamed to admit she was still thinking of the logistics of it. Of them, fucking in the shower.

_Oh Gawd!_

It takes a full ten minutes before she feels composed enough to switch off the shower. She steps out and towels herself dry in silence, her thoughts still churning. A slow panic starts to rise in her again. Normally she’d be barrelling round her room right now, grabbing at clothes and making a mess, still singing along to her fave shower soundtrack. Now she’s trapped in here because _he’s_ out there.

“So, so _embarrassing_!” she hisses to herself, cheeks flushed.

Finally dry, she wraps a fresh towel round herself and paces the bathroom restlessly.

_You’re gonna haveta go out and face him. You can’t stay in here all day! Don’t be dumb! Of course you can’t! So get out there, gal! Get!_

She feels silly for feeling so silly. She doesn’t break a sweat pummelling Nimrod to the ground, but this-!

An upswell of courage takes her, and she bursts through the door on a cloud of scented steam, right into her room.

He’s lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Lying on her bed,_ like he had last nigh_t. She feels her cheeks burn brighter, but she doesn’t break the walk to her underwear drawer - at least, she thinks she doesn’t. She pulls open the drawer so hard she’s surprised it doesn’t shatter in her superpowered grasp. His gaze prickles the skin on her back, the sensation so delicious it makes her shiver. She rifles through her underwear distractedly, her senses honed only on him. His eyes are on her - she can _feel_ it. She’s never felt so naked in all her life.

(**Bustedflipflop**!) Meanwhile, Remy had spent the entire time Rogue was in the shower running through what he liked to call “Rogue’s Greatest Hits” in his mind's eye. He knew after his unwanted intrusion she was going to need more than a few moments to calm herself and he had to entertain himself somehow. These were all his favorite moments of witnessing Rogue’s internal rage exploding to the surface when it wasn’t directed at him.

There was the time Jubilee had played “Call Me Maybe” for the upteenth time within a particular weekend and Rogue had broken down her door and thrown her stereo presumably into the sun. They never did find where it landed, but everyone could agree Rogue had done the Lord’s work that day.

The time he’d watched her from the window while she was out on the pool deck, and she’d slipped on a puddle left there by some unsuspecting team mate. This one was a particular favorite because her exact words, while descending to the Earth, were “Son of a Biscuit!” When Bobby had walked out a few seconds later, she’d immediately blamed him and proceeded to give him a legendary tongue lashing.

But the ultimate (**Jehilew**) moment of what he affectionately refers to as ‘Rogue rage’ was that time Wade had thrown away her straightener. As in, he’d literally thrown the damn thing out her window. While it was still closed.

Remy snorts softly to himself at that memory, his eyes training on the woman who’d made it as she swans out of a cloud of shower steam into her bedroom. He hadn’t been in the room for the conversation leading up to the event, merely sitting in his window smoking a cigarette and minding his own, when he’d heard the shattering of glass, her indignant screech, and then watched the hair styling tool drop to the ground from three stories up.

_“And while we’re at it, sexifying your closet, Anna-Banana, this here blazer’s got to go,” he’d heard Wade’s obnoxious voice reasoning loudly over Rogue’s angry noises, “you look something like the lesbian lovechild of a soccer mom and a judge in it—“_

_“Wade, don’t you dare—goddammit, Wade, I swear to Jesus—!”_

He hadn’t gotten the rest of the conversation, either, as Rogue tended to sound more like a snarling animal than a human when truly riled up (and goddamn if she isn’t the absolute hottest woman walking the planet when she’s pissed!). He had gotten to watch a schnazzy black blazer he’d seen her wear a lot follow the straightener out the window.

Not even thirty seconds later, Wade had also dropped that path to the ground, wailing dramatically the whole way down til he’d crashed into a groaning mess in Stormy’s rose bushes.

A fantastic example of taking one for the team, if you ever ask him. Rogue can wear a fucking potato sack (or a towel, as is the case right now) and still put a twitch in his dick, but he’s not sorry to see her curls back and the blazer gone. Wade had done all a favor when he’d tossed those for Rogue.

Remy pauses on that memory and simply watches her for a moment as she fidgets with her drawers. He can feel the nerves radiating off that girl, and he mentally cusses himself for setting her on edge.

Not a new thing, that. Every step in their relationship is like this, leaving him wondering if he’d pushed too hard, yet simultaneously feeling like it’s fine, he can smooth her over a little. He’s had it go both ways, she’s not always predictable in her reactions, so he’s not unused to her blowing up at him. He’d just rather she didn’t the further into this they get.

Whatever _this_ is.

“Hey, chere,” he calls out softly, sitting up. He knows laying out on her bed like he was will keep her keyed up. He’s not getting up to completely ease her either, though. Her fears are vicious, and to validate all of them all the time is to get nowhere with her.

(**AmberLady42**) She jumps, startled out of her thoughts when she hears his voice. She glances back to where he’s sitting watching her intently. “I… I’ll just be another minute, Remy,” she says grabbing something from the top drawer and yanking open the middle one. Taking out the rest of her clothes she starts hastily getting dressed, back still turned.

Remy watches with amusement and admires her skill at stealthily getting dressed behind her towel. Rogue tugs on a pair of socks and then turns around, eyes searching intently for something.

“Gloves, gloves…. Where did I put those danged gloves?” She begins looking back through the trail of clothing she’d shed earlier. “Aha, there you are!” she says crouching down to pick them up. Pulling her gloves on and once again feeling safe and in control she stands up only to come face to face with Remy.

“Jeez! Careful Remy, you can’t get too close to me… my powers… you gotta be careful, I could hurt you,” she says taking a step back.

“Rogue, Chere,” he says softly as he reaches out and takes her gloved hand. “You know I always be careful. Was worried about you, Hank said you were in the infirmary for an hour.”

“I’m fine, Remy. It takes more than a fight with Nimrod to put me down. Hank just worries too much and always wants to run all these tests.”

“Dat’s true. It’s like he never wants anyone to leave the Medbay.” He grinned at her and changed the subject. He hated thinking about doctors. Or hospitals. “Well, Sha, it seems we’ve missed dinner. Want to come grab a bite with me and maybe go dancing? Or I could make you pancakes and we can stay in.”

“Hmmm, pancakes or dancing,” she says thinking out loud. “Two of my favorite things. I think I’ll take you up on the pancakes. As much as I’d love to go dancing with you, I am a bit sore from that fight, and besides, I don’t think I have anything clean to wear that safely covers up all my skin.”

“I might have a solution to that Chere,” he says with a smirk, as he reaches into the pocket of his trench coat.

“What? You went out and bought me a new dress?” she teases.

“Even better.” He pulls a small box out of his pocket and places it in her hand. “Here, open it.”

Rogue gives him a skeptical look and opens the box. Inside, is a plain, silver band. Rogue’s eyes widen and she looks up sharply, “You ain’t doing somethin’ dumb like prosposin’ are ya Cajun?”

He laughs, “Non, that’s not what that is at all.”

Relief washes over Rogue’s features.

“This is a power nullification ring. I asked Forge if he could make one.”

“Power nullification? Umm, just what are you trying to say with this Remy?”

“Rogue, I know you’ll get your powers under control someday, but I also know you’re scared of accidentally touching someone and putting them in a coma. So, I asked Forge to make the ring. Chere, I see how careful you are at avoiding touch and I can see how much it bothers you too. I figured if you ever wanted to go out and do “normal” things, even just not have to wear gloves all the time, you can. You can go shopping with Jubilee in dose crowded malls and not worry, you can go swimming in the pool when the other X-Men are in it, or you can come dancing with me at a crowded club and not worry about anything.” He shrugs. “Or you can just put it in a drawer and forget about it. It’s yours to do with as you please.”

He lets go of her hand. “Now, I believe I’ve got some pancakes to make. What kind you want, Chere?”

(**Jeangrey**) Rogue doesn’t give him a reply. Instead, she keeps her eyes on the ring inside the box, her mind going crazy with all the thoughts and feelings brought up by his gift. Flirting, sexy innuendos, smiles, teasing?

These, she can take.

But this? A power nullifier? A way to take down the final barrier preventing her from giving in to his advances and flirting? To his wants and needs and the possibility to touch him, taste his sinful lips, feel his hands all over her like she has been fantasizing about since their dance started...

To have sex with Remy LeBeau?

_Oh, Gawd!_

Could her face fire up more?

She finally looks up at him. He means every word and more. No games. And he’s just turned for the door.

“Alright chere, I let you finish your beauty routine and I go start on those pancakes. Lemme know what-”

“Remy, wait!”

Rogue puts on the ring. A soft blue glow engulfs it for a moment.

She circles it around her finger.

“(**Ludi_Ling**) Remy,” she says softly, suddenly shy as he halts and turns back. His gaze is so innocently expectant, and she isn’t fooled by it for a minute, but she smiles and says: “So how’m I gonna know if this thing works or not?”

He pauses a moment, before a slow smile crosses his face.

“And you accuse me of tryin’ t’ say somethin’, neh, sha?” he drawls slyly.

She tries not to blush, but still, she slowly feels the heat suffusing her cheeks.

“I ain’t tryin’ to say anythin’,” she counters, a little too brusquely for her intended play at indignation to be believable.

“Sure you ain’t,” he grins - then quickly straightens out his face as he realises his teasing might still be too much for her. “Well, if you’re needin’ some help testin’ it out, I’m sure we can figure somethin’ out,” he continues, seriously. “Although I dunno why you’d need ta, since Forge is pretty much de man when it comes ta—”

She doesn’t give him a moment to finish his sentence. In a split second she’s practically launched herself at him, pressing her lips against his.

A flash of anxiety hits him, as the ingrained expectation of an absorption flares. But…_ nothing happens. Nothing_. All he feels are her lips on his, her kiss, a little shy, a little inexperienced… But firm. And _determined_, in a way only Rogue can be.

And before he knows it he’s kissing her back, kissing her like he’s longed to for an age, with nothing between them but bare skin.

God… the flavour of her. Everytime he tastes it, he wants more. He can’t help it. (Jehilew) He can’t—

_Tzzzzzt!_

His eyes fly open at the quick-fire pinch of her mutation, his world tilting ever so slightly sluggish toward the pull he can’t break away from.

Fuck, he doesn’t want her absorbing him, he doesn’t want her seeing shit she shouldn’t, feeling shit he’s felt, he wants her but not like this, not so exposed—

_Fuckin’ worth it_, his next thought interrupts over the others, and it’s true.

It’s over as quickly as it’d started, the stinging rip at their mouths fizzling out a split second later. She shoves him back, her mind reeling a little with the small absorption. He stumbles, and she instinctively reaches back for him, concern over-riding her fear in the moment.

“Shug, you okay?_ Look at me_, Remy, are you alright?” She demands in a voice pitched in anxiety, her gloved hands cupping his jaw and forcing his eyes at hers.

“Right as rain, chere,” he answers back with an easy smile, though she hadn’t missed that he’d had trouble focusing his eyes the moment before. “Looks like that power nullifier might be a bit glitchy, yeah?”  
No  
She deflates. He’s right, not even the nullifier works for her. _Stupid girl_, she thinks, fidgeting the ring that fits her finger just a tad too loosely, _thinkin’ you can have any of _this_, and with _him_, of all men_. “Yeah, it appears so,” she sighs, eyes staring at his throat, hands dropping from his face to his chest, then dropping away from him entirely. “Sorry about the killjoy, sugar,” she adds with a wry grin up at him, “it was fun while it lasted?”

Because she isn’t stupid, not really. This won’t last, the writing is on the wall, he’ll say he’s fine with just messing around, and then he’ll lose interest.

He’ll leave, and she’ll be…

Well, she doesn’t want to think about that.

“Pfft! Quit bein’ so dramatic, chere,” he chuckles, reaching for her hands and pulling her back to him. “It ain’t so bad, no? I seen you drop folks in the same time we just kissed, and look at me. Still standin’, and I feel fine. ‘Sides,” he adds, “the absorption stopped before you did. It was only a split second zap.”

She goes with his hands, not really having it in her to reject him. Not when she _really_ wants him, and here he is, so ready and willing to take the risk. Besides which, he’s right; she hadn’t stopped the absorption. The nullifier still works, just...not smoothly. “You sure about all that, Cajun? You feelin’ fine, I mean?”

“Mmm-hm,” he hums, pulling her hands up around his neck before slipping his over her hips and up her back. “Never better. ‘Specially right now, chere,” he adds, tightening his arms around her and pulling her in more.

She lets him, though she’s more keyed up than before, despite the soothing strokes along her back. Though she supposes he’s right, in that maybe she’s overreacting a tad. After all, the absorption was practically nothing—she can’t really feel him in her head anymore, and there’s no buzz of his mutation. And he’s absolutely right, the absorption was slow, more like a little glitch of the ring to be honest. Had she not had the nullifier, he’d have been out cold and she’d have a headful of him and a handful of his powers.

_Maybe we can still do this_, she thinks, rubbing her lips against his shoulder (wishing for the whole stinkin’ world she could actually touch him). After all, if the ring glitches again, then this is just another night like the last several they’ve had, just fooling around her mutation. If it doesn’t glitch again, then…

_Oh, what the hell_, she decides, she’s already thrown caution to the wind and jumped at him anyway. And she is curious at how the ring, fussy as it may be, can change up things between them.

She kisses him through his shirt. Soft and fast at first, then she slows down and presses her face into his shoulder more firmly, her fingers curling into his hair. She can almost feel the heavy texture sliding between her fingers, sleek and coarse, and between the memory of that scalding kiss and the heated scent of his skin coming through the worn fabric of his shirt, she can swear she can taste him, too. Wishes she can. Wishes she can taste him so badly, it makes her squirm up on her toes and into him even more, makes her tighten an arm around his neck, makes her do something reckless, like pull her other hand back to cup his bristly jaw, and lean in so close, they’re almost kissing again—

“Hey, uh, Remy?” She starts a little breathlessly, licking her lips both out of nerves over what she’s about to ask and sheer want for another kiss, because he’s _so damn close_—

“Hmm?” He asks, an arm curling tighter around her back as his other hand drags down over her ass. His fingers dig in, pressing her in hard against his front, his erection pushing into her abdomen.

She sucks in her breath and his too, which only intensifies the moment for her (and him, too, if the flash of his eyes and the twitch against her belly are anything to go on), almost chokes on her question, then lets it burst out in a forced breathe. “You think we can try this anyway? I-I mean, I know the ring ain’t workin’ quite right,” she continues in a rush before he can say no, “but like you said, it is workin’ some, it slowed my power down, hell, it even took a minute for it to kick in! And I don’t feel anything anymore, and you say you’re fine, so—?”

She trails off, staring up at him, on pins and needles, watching his features soften into a small smile. He slowly turns his face into her hand, eyes never leaving hers as he reaches up to press her palm into a kiss. “Think we might could try it out anyway, yeah.”

Her heart thuds in her ears as his hand slides up over hers til he gently pinches at her fingertips and starts tugging her glove off. “In fact,” he continues, her glove slowly sliding past her knuckles, “I do recall that ring stallin’ any absorption at all for several seconds, yeah?”

And then she has a naked handful of his jaw scratching by as he turns and kisses the inside of her wrist. And then she’s got the firm, sensitive texture of his lips and the soft puff of his warm breath moving along her skin into the palm of her hand, and then she can’t breathe.

She can’t breathe. _He’s right._

She can’t move._ It’s only for a few seconds at a time, but—_

She can’t hardly think past one thought. _I can touch him._

In that moment, a lot of _I can’ts_ becomes _I cans_.

_I can touch him. I can kiss him. I can lick him. Bite him. Taste him._

“All’s we gotta do is figure out jus’ how long we can do this at a time, chere,” he adds in his low, throaty yat that always sends a lick of pleasure up her spine, “and then you an’ me can do what we want. Maybe some of them things we’ve told each other we wanted to do.”

Her face flames hot at his words. A game of his, that, taking turns telling each other what they’d do if touch wasn’t an issue, all while doing something for the other that they could do. The combination of physical pleasure and explicit talk had been heady enough, but now…

_Oh god, that time he’d told me just how he’d go down on me_, she thinks, and her eyes nearly cross at the memory of his fingers mimicking what his mouth should’ve been doing. Because now that’s a possibility, as is that thing she’d described doing with her tongue that’d made him gasp, groan, and tilt up against her hand and lose his nuts for a minute.

_Pull yourself together, you ninny_, she chides herself, determination (**Ludi_Ling**) overcoming any lingering sense of fear.

Her heart skips a beat; a breath skips in her throat at the thoughts running round her head right now.

And speaking of tongues... His slowly flicks out and tastes the palm of her hand, and _nothings happened yet, no zaps, no nothing but sweet sensation_... And she lets out a quick breath, only for yet another to hitch in her throat as his eyes flash up to meet hers, a sexy grin locked on his face as he runs his tongue up her palm to her wrist, pausing only to kiss her there slowly.

She imagines his tongue, his kiss, inside her, and she thinks she might die right there and then from the anticipation of it.

And just when he lifts his lips from hers, that's when the zap comes, right where his fingers are clasped above her wrist. But this time it's softer, less sharp... more like an electrical hum underneath her skin. The sensation is weird... prickles, tickles... and isn't entirely unpleasant. He doesn't even let go of her this time. After a few seconds, it peters out.

His thumb slowly caresses her wrist and he says in a sultry drawl:

“Think we can deal with this, sha?”

She can’t speak. She’s dumbfounded. Even as he wraps his arm back round her, draws her closer to him again, and murmurs in her ear: "O’ course, if the idea of this is too much for ya, just say the word, p’tite, and I’ll back off, no questions asked."

And he’s still giving her an out, still giving her a chance to say no...

How can he think she still wants to?

She pulls away a little, takes his face between her palms, whispers: (**Jehilew**) “I swear to Jesus, Cajun, you back off now, and I’ll take off this here ring, zap you til ya drop, and do everything I ever said I wanted to with your psyche instead of _you_. So don’t you _dare_,” she finishes in a playful hiss before pulling his face down and kissing him.

He laughs into that kiss, utterly delighted by her threat and enthusiasm. She responds to his mirth with an inelegant noise in her throat before kissing him a little deeper, harder.

And it’s not a good kiss; it’s inexperienced, too forceful, and she’s pulling him down so hard, their teeth clack a few times. But he’s not turned off by it. Not at all, actually, even though he’s normally not even remotely attracted to virginal types.

Still not a thing he chooses to think on too much, especially considering he’s dead-ass about to pop this girl’s cherry if she lets him, he’s going to be one hundred percent into every second of it, and he’s going to be embarrassingly fast to go once he gets her off.

The zap flares up again, this time a sharper sting than the last, but there’d been no absorption. His head isn’t spinning, he doesn’t feel a pull, and she only stops kissing him when it zipped and popped her lips, too.

She stares up at him, cat-green eyes brimming with all the fire and passion he knows she’s capable of, her lips reddened with kisses and...whatever it is that’s crackling between them. Then she goes up on her toes, circles her arms tighter around his neck, and kisses him again, this time, softer, deeper, longer.

_She’s experimenting_, he realizes, and that’s a helluva thrill. She’s still shy, but she’s also bold, and it’s absolutely her to brazen her way through whatever she’s decided to meet head-on.

Apparently, the _whatever_ between them is what she’s decided to face with tonight, and he’s ready.

Truth be told, he’s been ready, it hasn’t been for just sex, it’s been for her, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with that once this is over, but he damn sure knows what he’s going to do til then.

He tightens his hold around her, stands up tall, pulling her up on her toes and flattening her out along his front. He licks into her mouth and takes over the kiss, backing her up til the back of her knees hit the bed. He lets her slip down his front to sit on the edge of the bed, and the sight of her—lips swollen from kissing the fuck out of him, her hair a wild mess, her eyes bright as wheatgrass against the flush on her cheeks…

He’d had ideas on what he was going to do the first time he got her. He was going to make it slow, make it deliberate. He was going to use fingers, mouth, and dick to please her, and he was going to make her come for him each time. And then, _then_, after he’d watched her lose it for him at least the third time, he’d get his. He even had fantasies of how exactly he was going to go about it.

All those plans just up and fucked off somewhere, leaving him here now, staring at this utterly _stunning_ woman, stunning in every goddamn way, watching him with bright eyes brimming with all her control struggles and struggles to control (and trying _so hard_ to go with him) and all he wants to do is follow her lead on what she wants, listen to her, watch her, give her what she wants instead of show her what she _might_ want.

He doesn’t want to just fuck her up real good anymore (he hasn’t for a long time). He wants to make love to her. And that terrifies the shit out of him and also makes his stupidass heart punch up into his mouth, and damn him anyway, he’s going for it.

He’s _in_.

She stares up at him, having a hard time swallowing. _He’s beautiful_.

Firefly eyes, sharp features, full lips. Tall, lean, hard body. And she’s seen that body naked, touched him with covered skin and gloved hands. He’s kissed her in _places_ through clothing, and she’s thought to return the favor, but has always been too shy.

Well. Here he is, paused in front of her, eyes looking like he wants to eat her up in one giant bite, and all she has to do is...well...go for it.

She’s _in_.

She leans forward, resting her forehead against his abdomen, running her hands up his thighs, over his hips. She closes her eyes as his fingers curl into her hair, then opens them as her own fingers slip under his shirt.

One hand gloved, the other not.

She holds her breath as she runs bare fingertips along the smooth, sensitive skin inside his hipbone, shivers when she feels the muscles beneath flex and jump at her touch.

_She’s touching him_.

The sting of her mutation yanks at him again, but it’s weak, pops out as soon as it started, doing little more than making him flinch a bit and reddening the patch of his skin she’d touched.

Her eyes fly up to his, her hands frozen on him. “Uh, Remy? Is it…I—I just wanna touch you. Just for a minute. Before you…do anything else.” She blows out a breath in frustration with herself, at her obvious inexperience, at her uncooperative words, then flashes him a helpless smile. “I just...I ain’t ever...well, I ain’t touched anyone since I was thirteen, and I definitely wasn’t doing...this...then, and I just…” she shrugs and lets her eyes slide down his torso to directly in front of her. “I just wanna touch,” she nearly whispers, rubbing her nose into his abdomen, “if that’s okay with you?”

“Chere, you do what you want,” he laughs out low, and she can feel it clear down below his navel. She pushes up his shirt and kisses him there, nuzzles til the now-familiar shock snaps her cheek. He hisses and his muscles clench, and it’s so damn delicious to watch and touch, she can’t help nipping at him.

A sharp snap of her teeth. A quick lap of her tongue, followed by a soft, open kiss, and she suddenly doesn’t give a damn about the pops and crackles of her suppressed mutation across his skin, she doesn’t give a damn about her insecurities or inexperience or being shy. All she cares about is getting more.

She makes short work of his belt, and she would have gotten it faster if his stupid shirt didn’t keep flopping down in the way. “Off,” she demands, shoving his shirt up.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies in a tone equal parts amused and wicked, and immediately pulls the offending shirt off.

His teasing sets her ease, soothing down so many nerves in an instant. _Just like we’ve always been, gal,_ she thinks as she grabs his hips and kisses along the coppery line of hair trailing south of his navel. Because that’s how it’s been with him from the beginning; intense, and he’s as wild as they come, but always with infinite patience and that infernal wit ever present.

Sexy, fun, and _funny_, that’s her lover (yes, he’s definitely that, she can’t deal with any other label, but that one...that one seems okay now). A potent, addicting combination, and one that makes her want to scream at him at some times, and scream for him at others.

“Shush, swamp rat,” she huffs at him, nipping his abdomen again as she undoes his fly. “It was gettin’ in my way. Slowin’ me down,” she giggles, her tongue following his zipper til she hits the waistband of his underwear.

“Can’t have that, now can we?” He counters, one hand now dragging along the nape of her neck and along her shoulder, the other still curling in her hair and scratching her scalp.

“Hmm-hm,” she hums distractedly, dipping her fingers into his underwear. _Calvin Klein this time_, she notes, tugging at the magenta waist. Then she snorts up at him, “black undies with pink trim, Cajun? How _original_!”

“Heh, yeah, and I saw what y’ snatched outta your panty drawer, beb,” he snorts right back, eyes flashing as they move over her face. “I do recall a very sexy, lacy pair of green panties being yanked up under that towel a few minutes ag—_ouw_!”

Rogue lets the patch of sensitive skin slip through her teeth, and grins up at him. “Listen to you, admittin’ to not turnin’ your head like a gentleman would. Just you show me them bad manners again, Remy.” She lets her grin twist flirtatiously, and leans in to rub her nose on the teeth marks she’d given, then kisses them. “I dare ya.”

With that, she swallows any remaining nerves, plants her mouth on his skin, and drags down wet kisses as she drops his pants to the floor.

She doesn’t zap him again til her tongue laps experimentally at the base of his dick, and it’s more like a crackle than it is a snap. He hisses and flinches slightly, his hands tightening in her hair and on the back of her neck, and she isn’t sure if it’s from her kisses or her mutation.

_Or maybe both?_

That thought makes her curious. She can’t predict when it’ll happen again, but it definitely isn’t hurting him, and if she does absorb him, it’s faint and slow enough, she won’t hurt him then, either. Maybe if next time, she doesn’t pull back, it’ll keep going? Intensify how it feels? He’s absolutely the type to be into that, a little pain with his pleasure, he’s shown and even flat told her he is.

She leans in close, kissing around his groin, recalling how he’d driven her to madness with his breath and almost-kisses in a like manner before. He sucks in his breath and lets it out in a rough, throaty groan, his fingers digging into her scalp and shoulder. Then she moves in closer to his dick, licking along the side, stopping every so often to kiss him.

God above, he tastes _good_! Despite her virginal status, she’s not new to this sort of thing; one of the more uncomfortable aspects of her mutation is the front row seating to her victims’ sexy-times. As such, though she’s long been horribly aroused by the notion of going down on a man, she hadn’t ever been able to say she was looking forward to _actually_ tasting one.

Til now, because damn her to her untouchable toes, this man tastes amazing, and she can’t honestly say who’s more turned on at the moment, him, twitching for her mouth, muscles tightening and flexing, toes curling into the rug at her bedside, or her, licking and kissing him in ways she’s only fantasized over, listening to the noises she rips out of him, watching his reactions to her—

“_Ahh_, fuck me, chere, th-that feels good,” he pants, trying to jerk back as she licks up over the tip of his dick and zaps him again.

She doesn’t let him. She instead leans in for him, licking, pulling him in with a kiss, a suck, making him ride out the crackles and pops in her mouth. She drags her hands back up his legs, one gloved and smooth, the other bare and practically sparking fingertip trails all the way up. He hisses and simultaneously jerks back and presses her face in, jumping with some snaps, and groaning low, rough, and _loud_ with others.

She loves that, how noisy he is. She’d been utterly mortified over the sounds he’d gotten out of her the first time she’d done anything with him, and then promptly decided _she_ had nothing to be embarrassed about after she’d listened to him get off after.

Several minutes in, his breathing hitches and his hips start moving in tandem with his hand gently pressing her in, in time with the hand gripping and rubbing her shoulder. She hums happily around him, sucking hard and then breaking loose with a loud smack as soon as the zing comes back. As the crackles and snaps peak, she pulls back to his tip, hands gripping his hips and holding him still.

He’s close, and the thought occurs to her that if she just gets him like this, and it’s obviously good for him…

Well, then she doesn’t have to worry about what’s next. Worry about her skin. Worry about her looks (dammit, she didn’t shave down there, he hasn’t seen her completely naked yet, and she hadn’t anticipated tonight!). Worry about how she stacks up to other women he’s been with.

Worry about how she stacks up to one woman he’d loved once. Because she has absorbed him before, and had gotten one of those memories, and Belle had stood out.

_Would she?_

_Yeah, suckin’ him off is best right now_, she thinks, _it’s workin’ for him, it’s workin’ for me, and we can do the thing next time, when I’m prepa—_

“Ch-chere, I can’t keep goin’,” he cuts her off in a thick, hoarse tone, pulling at her hair. He doesn’t want to come like this, not this time. He doesn’t want her first real experience with him to be his dick in her face and his mess down her throat.

Though he very selfishly wants that first time to include her soaking half his face first. In fact, that’s exactly what he’s doing next—returning the favor, and then some.

He twists a handful of her curls in his fist and pulls her back, and feels like he damn near tears off his dick, too, as tight as she sucks him in protest. Her mouth rips off of him in a loud smack, and his eyes nearly roll up as his gut clenches and every muscle from navel to knees twitch in effort to _stop_.

The impending climax subsides, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Stares down at the beautiful woman licking him off her lips, running her hands all over him, thighs, hips, abdomen, ass— “Don’t,” he growls out, catching her hand as it slips in between his legs.

God_damn_, she’s bent on getting him off before he can get it in!

“Get in the bed, Rogue,” he commands, hoping to hell she doesn’t balk. He’s too close, and he wants her so badly, his fucking teeth hurt, and he can have all the patience in the world, but dammit— “get in the bed, and open up for me.”

Her eyes fly up to his, her tongue flicking out over swollen lips, and she huffs excitedly at him, a sort of breathless smile on her flushed face. “Y-yeah? Okay.”

He climbs in after her, hooking fingers over the waistband of her pajama pants, pulling them off as she scoots up in the bed. He follows up over her, pausing to nip at her taut belly through her shirt. He knows she’s ticklish, and he also knows humor goes a long way with her.

Predictably, she giggle-snorts and crunches up under him, and attempts to pull him up (and away from her extremely ticklish torso).

_Attempts_. He’s aware that she could make him do as she wants, she could easily overpower him at every turn, and he thinks it’s hot as fuck that she could, and simply doesn’t.

And honestly, it’d be hot as fuck if she did, too.

He crawls up over her, keeping his body low to brush and bump and press into hers, then lowers himself even more to kiss her. She relaxes further into that kiss, her legs falling open for his hips, her arms slipping around his neck.

And it feels like the sweetest goddamn thing he’s experienced in a long time, simply sinking into her, kissing her as slow and deep as he wants, feeling her nails lightly scratching his scalp. He’s been fooling around with her for weeks now, and he’d frequently fucked around elsewhere til more recently, and none of it compares to right now—he can touch her, she’s easily touching him, and her guard is completely down.

He’s always enjoyed a solid make-out, and it’s a thing he’s missed since…

Well…

It’s been a while. He doesn’t bother with one-nighters (gives entirely the wrong vibe, he’s learned), and he hasn’t been in a relationship in a long time. Not even a fling.

Not that he’s been in any hurry to change that. It’s worked for him for a long while. It still could.

_But_...

She shifts under him, tilts her hips and pushes her tits up into his chest, and with the friction of her thighs over his hips and the mash of her lips into his comes that exciting zap between them. This one is like the first, it dances along all points of contact, then digs in and pulls a little, drags him into her, makes his head spin a tad. Not unlike being tipsy, also a state he enjoys being in.

She squawks into the kiss and pushes him up to break contact, absolutely spooked by the absorption. “Remy, look at me—_oh shit, girl, his eyes are rollin’ up_—Remy! _Look at me!_ Shug—!”

It’s fleeting, and he’s fine, in fact, it was pleasant, pleasurable, even, which makes him wonder a thing or two about her power. He lets that go for now, and instead focuses on her, because she’s frozen under him, her eyes wide and worried, and she looks about ready to start yelling the goddamn rafters down around him.

“‘M fine, beb,” he grins down at her, “completely fine. My head ain’t spinnin’, I still got my powers, and I ain’t about to drop on you.” Then he softens and cards his fingers into her soft curls. “How about you, girl? How you feelin’ just now?”

The absolute fear starts fading from her eyes, and she offers him an uncertain smile. “I...I think I feel alright.” She pauses in thought, then shrugs, “I mean, I ain’t got your powers, and I can’t really feel you in my head anymore, so… I guess we’re good?”

He lets his grin slide positively wicked. “Oh chere. You an’ me, we’re definitely better than _good_, and I’m about to show you.” He smacks his lips and rocks his hips into her, making her suck in her breath and grab at his shoulders. “You remember that thing I told you I been wantin’ to do to you for the longest? That thing wit’ my tongue and my fingers that drove you fuckin’ nuts the other night?” He nearly creams her damn panties at the flush _that_ brought her cheeks as she nods _very_ enthusiastically. “Well, I’m about to do that again, only this time, wit’ no panties, no gloves, and a lot better attention on y’ pretty little clit, chere.”

Because as much as she’d enjoyed his mouth over her panties then, it’s nothing like how his mouth directly on her pussy will feel, and he knows for a fucking fact he’s no slouch in that arena.

“_Ohhhh_ my _god_,” he hears her stunned whisper in response to his promise, and he laughs low and soft into her throat as he makes his way down her body. Because honestly, he’s about to make this woman fall to goddamn pieces for him, and then he’s going to nail her to the mattress if she’s still up for it.

He kisses, licks, bites, and sucks his way down her body, not bothering with taking her shirt off, just going over it. Then under it, first with his hands, then next with his mouth after pushing the garment up to her chin.

He remembers all her sensitive spots—under the curve of her tits, and to the sides, how the slightest brush across her nipples can make her gasp and arch up for more. How she’ll writhe and damn near tear the hair out of his head when he sucks one up tight and scrapes it across his teeth. He remembers all her ticklish spots, too, how she’ll hiss and double up under him when he gets anywhere near her ribs, dig her nails into his back and squirm under him when he so much as pretends to breathe in the direction of her lower abdomen.

And now that it’s her bare skin (skin so unimaginably soft in texture, velvety in scent, utterly mouthwatering to taste!)? He ups the stimulation ante, rubbing his face against her flesh as he licks long and rough into swells and dips, using his body to slide heavily over hers as he scrapes his teeth over ridges and crests, and dragging calloused hands over curves as he sucks sensitive skin, bites, then softly kisses away the teeth marks.

(**Ludi_Ling**) "R-Remy!"

She's half-gasping, half-laughing, her body alive with sensations she's never felt before, not in her entire life. Is she supposed to feel this way? Excited and lustful and breathless and _so damn ticklish_?

Ecstasy washes over embarrassment over ecstasy as his tongue grazes across the sensitive spot that triangles right down from her hip to her the line of her panties. She squirms and begs, her fingers knotting tight into his hair, tight enough that she thinks she must be hurting him, but he doesn't stop, doesn't even let up for a moment, his tongue lathing downward, hard and rough, as the next zap suddenly comes in... She drags in a breath as he slows down for a few split seconds, almost as if he's absorbing the electric hum right up into his mouth along with her skin. As if he's _getting off on it._

Lord knows _she_ is.

She moans and fists at the roots of his hair again. The ticklishness is gone and so is the traitorous embarrassment. He's so damn near the waist of her panties that she'd chosen just for him, and it's the lust winning out now. Lust and anticipation.

His eyes flash up at her when he hears her moan, his mouth still on her flesh, just soaking up the static ripples sparking off between them. A smile curls the corners of his lips and he nips at her as the zap fades, making her shudder with pleasure. She isn’t worried that she’s absorbed him anymore. All she can think about now is what it must feel like to have him inside her… and a small laugh sounds in his throat as he nips at her again, like he knows what she’s thinking, craving.

(**Jehilew**) _She’s ready._

She’s so fucking ready for him, she’s panting just watching him, squirming just knowing what he’s about to do, jumping and hissing with every graze of his lips, every puff of his breath.

Hell, at this point, he could probably get her off just _telling_ her what he’s going to do, going into explicit detail through kisses along her panty line.

An interesting idea to explore, but that’s for another night. Tonight is all about wow factor, going in for the kill.

He wants her coming back to him for more. _Lots_ more.

He never breaks eye contact as he sweeps his tongue under the waist of her panties. He doesn’t break eyes away when he licks longer, harder, and lower the next time. Or when he catches the delicate lace in his teeth, pulling down til he sees the first wisps of burnt red curls.

That digs the spurs in him. He’s _close_, and he can smell her, and he wants her taste on his tongue _now_.

He slides hands over her hips, holding them down as he opens his mouth and kisses, eats his way over her panties til he’s right over her pussy. There, he pauses a moment, and stares.

_Goddamn, she’s beautiful._

Fine, mint green lace, stretched thin over beautiful, creamy-smooth hips. Clit barely visible through red curls and pink lips peeking through the delicate fabric. He knows she’d picked the underwear for him, he’d learned an...interesting...way that while she wears pajamas to sleep, she does not wear panties to sleep.

He isn’t put off by her wearing these now, not at all! He likes a good tease, and these are teasing the hell out him. He wonders just how much he can taste her through the delicate lace?

“Chere, you’re gorgeous, yeah?” He slowly licks his lips as he stares at her, then raises eyes back at hers. “I’m about eat you so good, sweetheart. I’m gonna eat you slow, kiss your pussy deep. Then I’m gonna lick and suck y’ clit while I finger fuck you, and I’m gonna make you come so hard, you’re gonna be fuckin’ blind and deaf for a couple of minutes.” He holds her gaze as she huffs out an excited, breathy laugh, her thighs flexing as she arches her back and spreads wider for him.

_God help him, she’s so fucking ready._

He starts with kisses over her panties. Teases her with warm breaths and licks, then he opens his mouth and sucks on her through the fabric.

“_Oh god_, oh Remy..._god_!” She gasps and catches her breath unevenly, her eyes trained on him, watching him enjoy her. “_Oh my god_, please..._please_…”

He doesn’t need to be begged twice. Not tonight. He pulls her panties over a little. Kisses softly over her opening. Then licks in deep. Kisses. Licks more.

_She tastes incredible._ He hopes she lasts a few minutes, so he can stay here a little longer.

He slides first one finger inside her, licking a little further up to tease her, then slips a second one in. Pushes in all the way to his knuckles, then curls his fingers inside her, stroking her as he gently pushes in and out.

It doesn’t take her long. What starts out with a zap along the length of his fingers and the press of his mouth ends with her bucking and begging loudly for more.

She goes from needing to watch what he does to tossing her head back on the pillow and squeezing her eyes shut as he pulls her panties all the way over and gives her his mouth.

She goes from anticipating to experiencing, from thinking to feeling, and he feels _good_.

_Incredible_.

Unlike anything she’s ever experienced with her own fingers, that’s for sure. And it’s building...building...building_fast_, so _fast_, she can’t— “Oh god..._ohhhhhhh_ my god...oh god, oh god, ohgod,” —_zap!_— “ohgod, ohgodohgodohgod_Remyohmygod!_”

She clenches up from tip to toe, breathing hard, shuddering, high-pitched sounds, her hands twisting and pulling in his hair, and she knows it hurt, because he pops off her clit in a hissed curse for just a moment. Then he goes back in, and the zap happens again, and it’s like he sucks that up, too.

She wants him. She wants him now, and she doesn’t want to wait til she’s ridden this out.

She wants him in her _now_.

“Remy, come here,” she breathes fast, grabbing at his shoulders, and he wastes no time. He’s up in a smooth, graceful shot, his long body _deliciously_ hard and just..._big_...over her, his hips a perfect, lean fit between her legs. She can feel him, swollen and heavy against her thigh, and she’s practically shaking as a sweet, sharp jolt of pleasure hits her south.

He pauses a moment, and she’s ready to scream at him for it; she fully appreciates the softer side of him when she gets it, and the heavy-lidded, attentive look he’s giving her is...not something she’s ready to pick apart yet (but will be dissected at length the second he leaves her bed), but—

Her frustration stutters with her heart as a small smile tips the corner of his fine-drawn mouth, his eyes a light show under the prettiest damn lashes she’s ever seen.

“How you feelin’, girl?” He asks, shifting_ just so_ til he’s pressed r_ight where she needs him_, but can’t have him just yet because her panties are back in the way.

“I’m feelin’ _great_. Now c’mon!” She snips and nods maybe a little too hastily at him, but she doesn’t care. She’ll be embarrassed by her over-eagerness later on, but right now, she just wants him.

He laughs low in his throat, and it makes her grab him in tighter with arms and legs. “Well then, guess it ain’t nice to keep a pretty girl waitin’, no?” He nips at her lips as he reaches down between them. She shivers at the brush of his fingers as he pulls her panties all the way over. “I need a condom?”

She freezes for just a split second at his question. He’d caught her off-guard with that one. Which is silly, considering she’s fully aware of the wisdom behind his asking.

It’s just that...well...kids aren’t ever a thing she dwells on since they aren’t in her cards for a variety of reasons.

Technically, diseases aren’t either, for similar reasons. She can’t help teasing him a little over it though. “Nah, _you_ don’t, but do _I_?”

He snorts. “You gotta smart mouth, Anna-Marie, and I’m gonna make y’ pay for it later,” he promises with a glint in his eyes that gives no room for doubt. “But naw, chere, I’m clean. Now,” he continues, “how about I do that other thing I promised I would the first night we were together, yeah?”

She feels him shifting on her, and then she nearly chokes on her tongue when she feels the weight of his dick pushing full length against her, the slick rub of him over her clit.

“You remember that promise, don’t you? ” He asks, gently rocking his hips for the tiniest, slowest rub on her, and her eyes screw up shut at the intense, dragging pleasure.

“Y-yes?” She nods fast and breathes faster, tilting her hips up for more.

And she does remember. It’d been the first explicitly sexual thing he’d said to her, that promise, and she’s ready.

Especially if it means he stops his current torture of making her want him inside her so damn badly, yet not wanting him to stop what he’s doing, because she could get off on this alone. So easily. So _fast_. So very _veryfas_t— “DammitRemy_hurry_!” She snaps breathlessly at him, shuddering and digging her feet into the mattress as she builds, builds,_builds_— “do it! Oh god..._dammit_...please _do_ it!”

Next thing she knows, he’s kissing the hell out of her while sliding in slow and easy, and it doesn’t hurt at all, she’s ready, has _been_ ready. She whimpers (that will embarrass her when she thinks about it later, but for now, she doesn’t give a damn, all that matters is him), her mouth mashing up to his, her legs slipping around his hips. He starts moving, and she starts going with him, and then he’s grabbing her thigh and going harder, and she can’t keep up with him, and she feels like she’s unraveling, because it’s _him_, and he’s_ a lot,_ and if she was a silly girl, she might be falling in love with him— “_Ohhhhhh_ god, I can’t, it’s too fast..too much—“

“You can, chere, _goddamn_, you can,” he growls over her ear, pushing in as deep as he can, “_fuck_ me, sweetheart, fuck me real good right back.”

It’s the sound of his voice in conjunction with the sensory overload of him that does it. She squeezes her eyes shut and yells his name as she comes, and with her coming is another zap. That zap tugs at him, slowly pours him inside her in a way far more intimate than sex. As she rides it out, she’s wrapped up with him, his pleasure, his thrill, his heart, his insecurities, and the entire overload intensifies the lovemaking even more.

_Lovemaking_. Because that’s what this was. They aren’t just fucking. They’re _loving_, too, she sees it clear as goddamn day in him, and so she recognizes it in herself.

It doesn’t have time to scare the shit out of her yet, but she knows it will. For now though, she hangs onto him and _lets him have her._

He feels the first true crackle of her power pulling through the suppressant, and it hurts. But it also feels really fucking good, triggered by an orgasm she’d had maybe too quickly, and it feels like one giant suck on him—her power on his energy, her body on his, her pussy on his dick. He doesn’t fight it, he doesn’t pull back, he simply drops his face in her throat, groans loud and harsh as he rides her deep, comes, and lets himself fully sink into her arms, body, and mutation.

_Lets her have him_. As much of him as she wants to take. He’ll analyze the hell out of that on another day (and likely run from it), but for now, he lets it go and lets himself fall into a woman he thinks he might be very stupidly falling for.

They both slow down, bodies slick with sweat and sex, breaths hard and fast, racing hearts matching. She holds him to her as he goes, feeling her power gently give into the nullifier as Remy stops seeping into her mind. He has her flattened out under him, his hands in her hair, his cheek pressed against hers, giving a little more of himself to Rogue than he’d ever originally intended.

It’s a rare quiet moment between them. No charge, no sparks, no tension, no angst. No barriers, no complications. All those things will return soon enough, but for now, (**Ludi_Ling**) she'll take this little slice of contentment. They both will.

For what feels like a long while they simply lie there together, closer than close, the periodic pulls of her suppressed power drawing them subtly closer. This time there's no absorption of him, however fleeting - but now, in the quiet, she still feels the traces of his thoughts, feelings, memories, prickling inside her. She's dimly aware that he's given away more of himself to her than he'd intended... But it feels okay. It feels okay because she thinks she might be in-love with him, and... she thinks he might feel the same way too. A part of her _knows_ it now.

(**Jehilew**) Rogue smiles quietly at the man resting with his face in her throat. He’d moved off of her after, but still stayed close, his legs tangled with hers, one arm curled up under her shoulder, the other over her torso. He’s quiet, perhaps drowsy, but not asleep; she can feel his lashes brushing the side of her neck when he blinks, and the unhurried rub of his thumb along her ribs.

_He’s a snuggler_, she thinks, threading bared fingers through his hair. He’d surprised her with that one when they’d started...doing whatever it is they’re doing, always pulling her into him after. She hadn’t pegged him for the cuddly type at all. She supposes it’s not terribly out of character, not if she really thinks about it. Tactile as he is?

In another life, one that hadn’t crapped on him so much, he might’ve been a freely affectionate man, widely surrounded by people he loved and loved him back.

She snorts hard at the ridiculous image of a cuddly, affectionate Gambit, doling out hugs and back claps and kissing cheeks to a crowd of friends and family who adored him. Then she smacks a fierce kiss to the side of his difficult, complicated, _mysterious_ head.

She’ll take him as he is, not as he might’ve been in a kinder life. _That_ Remy LeBeau definitely never would have been hers in any way at all.

“What’re you laughin’ at, chere?” He mumbles all the way up to her ear, otherwise not budging an inch off of her.

“Nuthin’. You. Now, quit it, that tickles,” she shivers at his kisses, pushing up her shoulder to pinch his face out of her neck.

“What, this?” He nips at her earlobe, and she giggles at him, trying to writhe away. His dimmed eyes flash up bright at the play, and his smirk turns wicked as he moves up, grabs her wrists, and pins her down. “Or maybe _this_ is what you meant by ‘_that tickles!_’,” he mimics her voice as he situates himself hard and between her legs as he licks a hot, breathy stripe from her clavicle, behind her earlobe, and then kisses over her ear.

She shoves her hand between his mouth and her ear, giggling loudly and ready to screech at him, it tickles so bad. “Remy, I said _quit it_, and that ain’t at all how I sounded when I—_mmmfumnn_…”

She closes her eyes as he cuts her off with a kiss and his fingers between them, and then she moans into his mouth as he gives her a little buzz that damn near makes her eyes roll up, it feels so good.

“What, quit this?” The buzzing stops, and she wants to scream at him. “You sure about that? You don’t seem so sure about that at all, if y’ askin’ me.” He nips at her lower lip, then eagerly goes in for a kiss when she opens up and her power snaps them both.

When he pulls back, she grins a bit breathlessly up at him. “So is this,” she pushes up into his charged hand, “is what you were promisin’ me earlier? Before I...uhhh—“

“Before you came so fast?” He finishes for her with the world’s entire supply of smug satisfaction etched into his handsome face. “Nah, this just a teaser on what’s to come. I do very distinctly recall tellin’ you I can call a charge wit’ any part of my body, dick included, yeah?”

His hand moves away, and he’s pushing inside her again, slow, so goddamn slow, _maddeningly_ slow, and then it feels like he’s buzzing, vibrating, increasing in intensity (along with that admittedly obnoxious whine his power causes) til he hits deep. She holds her breath as he pauses, then catches on it twice with his name as he slowly pulls back and the charges dies down, and then she sucks in her teeth and cries out when he slides back in, faster, harder, the charge and whine flaring back up again.

And as he sets his pace and pattern, she follows, pulling him in tight with arms and legs, her power snapping at his, tugging at him a little as he literally lights her up a lot, and just like last time, after she holds him in and takes both his pleasure and what feels like a little of his soul, she feels that same quiet from before, that same sense of _okay_.

She rubs her face into his shoulder, lightly kissing and nuzzling at the drowsy man drifting off on top of her. He’d tried to roll off earlier, and she hadn’t let him. She’ll hold him just like this for now, and then scoot out from beneath him when he feels too heavy, but for now…

She giggles softly and kisses the side of his neck, gently scratching her nails over his scalp, and idly running a gloved hand along his spine.

_God above her, he’s something._ The texture of his hair, his skin, the shape and tension in his back, chest and shoulders…

She glides her hand up over his shoulder, attention completely snagged by the imagery of her gloved hand caressing his bared skin. Yellow fingertips tracing the muscles and bones under tanned, olive flesh.

The juxtaposition of her isolation to his reaching out.

That ring he’s given her was a hell of a game changer for them.

She suddenly _needs_ to touch him with that hand, too. She doesn’t want any barriers right now. Those will be back in the morning, but right now, in this quiet, close moment, she only wants closer.

“Yup,” she mouths low along his collarbone, “all’s I want right now is you, Cajun. So, I’m sorry, shug, to take off this glove, I gotta take off this ring for just a _teensy_ second, and I promise, I won’t steal nothin’, I’m still gonna be holdin’ the ring, and I’ll put it right back on.” She cuts off her own babbling to softly kiss his throat. “Thank you for this, Remy. We probably ain’t gonna turn up roses in the end, ‘cause that’s too easy, but thank you.”

Rogue gently pulls her arms back from around him, intending to slip the nullifying ring from her gloved hand to the bare one.

What she notices knocks the breath out of her chest, freezes her from the inside out, and momentarily makes her panic.

Til she remembers it’s been fine. She doesn’t know for how long, but they’ve been fine, and they’re fine right now.

Her breathing slows, and her heart calms, and she stares at her hands in wonderment.

She’s _fine_!

He’s _fine_!

They’re naked and together, hell, he’s still _inside_ her, softened, heavy, and sleepy, and they’re fine, she’s not hurting him!

She rips off the glove with shaky hands and runs them over his shoulders, in his hair, down his back, his ribs, excitement bubbling up from her toes as she giddily, _greedily_ explores his body with no barriers.

No barriers, because the ring had been a little too loose, and it’d fallen off while they’d been in bed. Slid right off the smooth material of her glove, and they’d been so distracted by each other, neither had noticed it.

All she’d ever needed was to forget she had a power to give her problems, and the problem went away. Glitchy, yes. Smoothly, no. But problematic?

Naaaaaaah.

_Game changer, indeed!_

She bites her lip to keep from calling his name, waking him up to tell him. Because she will. Tell him, that is. The ramifications of that aren’t ones she wants to think on, but to not share something that huge with _him_?

Scared shitless of it, she might be, but she’s not even considering the notion of not telling him as soon as he awakens.

(**Ludi_Ling**) Tentatively she rests a hand on his chest as he sleeps, half afraid of the _pull_… and there _is_ a pull, momentary and fleeting, even pleasurable as he seeps a little into her… but it’s barely there before it’s gone once more. And then there’s _nothing_. Just her skin on his his, smooth and warm and so damn human it takes her breath away.

Tears prick her eyes as she sweeps both hands up over his chest to his shoulders, as she sinks in against him and holds him to her. Tears of joy, at the world of possibilities that have opened up before her. At the _freedom_, from so many things, but mostly from fear.

She loves, and she’s loved, and she thinks it might last for a lifetime. There’s nothing to fear anymore.

She kisses his shoulder, snuggles in closer, listens to him breathe.

It seems incredible, but today is the day when, finally, everything has gone _right_.

(**Lifeseverchanging**) The End.

(**CajunCajole**) ~_fin_~

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Also, many thanks to roguesboobfreckles for that amazing Rogue Rage instant with Deadpool. that was a gorgeous scene she and I hashed out in chat one day, and its perfect!


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